


In Vain

by IMtheDevil



Series: Monsta X Short Stories [3]
Category: Monsta X (Band)
Genre: Angst, Gen, Mention of alcohol, Mention of injuries, Zombie Apocalypse, did I say there was angst? Because there is angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-11
Updated: 2019-03-11
Packaged: 2019-11-15 14:52:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,206
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18075485
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IMtheDevil/pseuds/IMtheDevil
Summary: Changkyun hides out from the zombie apocalypse in an old bar.





	In Vain

**Author's Note:**

> This was written after given a prompt on Monbebe Amino to set a story in an old bar. Originally, it was written so that the character was not known until the end. I decided not to re-write it even though you already know who the MC is in this story.
> 
> As said in the tags, there are brief mentions of alcohol and a lot of angst. Enjoy ~

The sun started to dip below the horizon on the mostly empty landscape. The road was dotted with empty cars here and there, the setting sun prejected odd shadows with the still open doors. Broken glass and trash littered the ground. A low, chilly breeze stirred forgotten newspapers with doomsday messages headlining the front page. No sign yet of those who roamed at night looking for their next meal. He rapidly scanned the area for refuge. A squat, two-story building with wood-reinforced windows and doors looked appealing. He circled the first floor, ensuring that all entrances were already securely closed. A fire escape at the side of the structure gave him a way in—he jumped, grabbed the lowest rung, and scrambled to pull himself up.

Once he reached the landing, he peered into the window for any movement. Satisfied that no threat was apparent within, he decided to enter. He tore a strip of fabric from his undershirt and wrapped it around his knuckles. He jabbed outward, fist coming into contact with the grimy window. The aged glass fractured beneath the pressure, and pieces of the pane thudded onto the floor. He flinched, but miraculously it landed onto something that muted the sound.

Using his wrapped hand to avoid cuts from the jagged edges, he unlatched the window and slid it open slowly—not wanting to risk any squeaking. He gently put one foot on the inside and then worked his way through the opening. He rapidly eyed the interior as his pupils adjusted to the darkness. He found a dirty sheet on the floor and tossed it over the window frame he just entered. It would have to do.

Since he did not hear or see any indication of life, he wondered about the previous occupants. He truly hoped they were not still inside, as he would not hesitate to end their life to protect his. He had been through too much to take that chance. As he prepared to secure the floors, he pulled out a flashlight and unholstered his gun. The pool of light cast strange shadows; it appeared that this floor was something of a storage area. Boxes and crates were stacked against the walls, some covered by tarp. He noted a cot in the corner, a scrap of luck tossed his way that he was happy to snap up. Though he longed to rest, he needed to ensure his safety. More importantly, he needed to take care of the gash on his shoulder. He shook his head to focus and continued the sweep.

The wooden stairs creaked subtly underneath him. He wondered how long it had been since the last person had traversed that staircase. As his light brushed over the furniture, he realized where he was—an old bar. Chairs were propped against any entryways to the first floor, and he noted that the inside of the windows had been boarded up in addition to what he saw on the outside. Whoever had been here was smart, cautious. If the stale air and the thick layer of dust were any indication, it had been quite some time since someone had been there. It did not take him long to confirm the security of the building. There were only two stories and no kitchen. No basement for anything to crawl out of. He made his way to the bar counter.

He saw motion in the corner of his eye and whipped toward it ready to fire—

…it took him a moment to realize he was staring at his own reflection in the murky mirror behind the bar. He almost couldn’t see himself through the layer of dirt that stuck to both the mirror and himself. Cleanliness was not the first thought he had when trying to make it through the day alive. But now, in the safety of the bar, he wondered if the water lines still operated so that he could at least attempt to scrub the filth off. At worst, there were about a hundred bottles of intoxicants that lined the wall above the mirror that he could use.

His shoulder twinged and reminded him to take care of it. He rummaged through the drawers and found a relatively unused first aid kit. Gauze, thread, a needle—he had everything he needed right here. Just had to clean it first. He grabbed the closest bottle from underneath the countertop and looked at the label. Whiskey. Perfect. He winced as he unbuckled the ammo belt slung across his chest and removed his jacket and both shirts. Taking a deep breath, he downed a quaff of whiskey and then poured some of it over the open wound.

As the alcohol sizzled through the injury, his brain cleared of anything other than the fiery brand shooting through his shoulder. He gripped the counter so tightly that his hands remained in a claw shape until he shook them out. In his current state, his hands were not steady enough to do anything else with the laceration. Taking the bottle with him, he slid down onto the floor with his back resting against the wall and his legs splayed apart. He took another drink. The memories of the past year came flooding back, bringing with them a weight that tied itself to his heart.

There were seven of them trying to survive together—his friends, his brothers. They were so different, yet able to work those differences to their advantage. A cool headed mind to lead, one to keep morale high, someone to do the cooking, one who was essentially a pack animal, another that could make them laugh easily, a grounded soul who encouraged their efforts, and the youngest—who the group felt like they needed to protect even though he was probably the bravest among them.

He thought about the dive he was in, and he could easily imagine them hanging out there together. In his mind’s eye, he saw them sitting there at the bar, their chests pressed to the edge of the counter as they waved down the bartender. They were laughing and tossing back shots, egging each other on. He lifted his bottle and poured a little out—just for them. He was no stranger to loneliness, but he was not used to the fact that he could not end the loneliness now even if he wanted to. No one was there for him to go to. He ached at the thought of never seeing their rare smiles or hearing their voices ever again. Now, all of them except him were gone. The wound on his shoulder throbbed in response to his agony.

Although he began to hear the muffled sounds of movement beyond the barricaded first floor, he felt the safest he had all week. He knew at some point he would need to return upstairs and crash on the cot he found earlier. For now, certain thoughts reverberated in his mind. Despite the pain, despite the loss, he refused to give in. His friends gave themselves so that he could survive.

“I will not let their deaths be in vain.” Changkyun chanted this to himself as he took another swig and let the world fade away.

**Author's Note:**

> Twitter: @monmaddie  
> Monbebe Amino: I.M the Devil


End file.
